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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28903671">Orders</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeCoppice/pseuds/HopeCoppice'>HopeCoppice</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Blow Jobs, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Gratuitous Swearing, M/M, Other, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Arrangement (Good Omens), Pre-Golgotha, Seriously there's a lot of effing and jeffing here, Technically Following Orders, There's a tenuous storyline but c'mon, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), minor Hastur</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:40:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,849</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28903671</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeCoppice/pseuds/HopeCoppice</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley is ordered not to sleep with the humans. This is baffling, because he never has.</p><p>But when he finds out Aziraphale has been given the same orders, the solution seems clear.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>183</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Orders</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is just gratuitous smut (probably not very good smut) that I wrote ages ago, but I wanted to get something up (o-ho-ho) while I'm working on a massive ridiculous AU. So. Enjoy, if that's your thing.</p><p>(Also: Crowley absolutely goes by Pretty Woman rules with the humans, which I know is ridiculous but go with me here.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The floodwaters recede, and it’s as if the people who lived there before the rain began were never there at all. Crawley leaves Mesopotamia for a while, too disgusted to look at Noah and the rest of God’s Chosen Few. He’s never been much for people who think they’re better than anyone else, even if they </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>been told by God Herself. Especially then, in fact. Were the rest so bad? Was Crawley?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A century later, he’s in what will one day be called Slovakia when he gets a new order from Hell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crawley.” Hastur looks spectacularly displeased to emerge from the earth, and Crawley suspects they’re both looking forward to the moment he can disappear again. “Hail Satan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. What’s going on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“New order from Below. Should be easy enough to follow. Don’t fuck the humans.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Crawley’s baffled. “I’ve </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span>- why </span>
  <em>
    <span>would </span>
  </em>
  <span>I- that’s… </span>
  <em>
    <span>disgusting</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. Then no problems. Don’t fuck ‘em. If you are fucking 'em, stop fucking 'em, and if you’re not fucking ‘em, keep not fucking ‘em. Hail Satan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah- oh, there you go.” Hastur has exploded into maggots - he gets through corporations like they’re going out of style, that one - and buggered off back to Hell. Good riddance, in Crawley’s opinion.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t fuck the humans.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Well, duh. Humans are so uncomfortably </span>
  <em>
    <span>corporeal</span>
  </em>
  <span>, all sweat and saliva and liquids and- well, he doesn’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>how </span>
  </em>
  <span>that would translate to sexual activity, but he’s fairly certain the whole thing would be messy and unpleasant. He spent long enough in the Garden averting his eyes from Adam and Eve’s shenanigans, and he’s never bothered to stick around and watch any of his lust-based temptations come to fruition. Honestly, he barely understands the point of the concept. So what on Earth would make Hell think he’d consider fucking a human?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Also, Hell might be the boss of him, but they’re not the boss of him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Which is how, about an hour after Hastur’s disintegration, Crawley finds himself staring up at the stars as a rather enthusiastic human woman bounces vigorously on top of him. It’s all right, he supposes. Not as bad as he thought it would- oh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, </span>
  </em>
  <span>that’s interesting. He hadn’t realised his corporation would react quite so ecstatically to this sort of stimulation. This, as it happens, is </span>
  <em>
    <span>quite</span>
  </em>
  <span> interesting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He tries it again, over the next few months, with a few other humans. He tries it with different genders, </span>
  <em>
    <span>as </span>
  </em>
  <span>different genders. It’s not an unpleasant way to pass time, every now and then.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s not really thinking about it at all when he runs into Aziraphale.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Crawley! Oh, it’s wonderful to see you-” He seems to remember himself abruptly. “-you, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>foul fiend</span>
  </em>
  <span> - but I’m afraid I’m not in the best of moods. You might prefer to avoid me altogether.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never,” Crawley tells him, all too honestly. “What’s bothering you, angel?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Orders from Heaven. Of all the- it’s just so </span>
  <em>
    <span>unnecessary</span>
  </em>
  <span>-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are the orders?” He’s a little alarmed, if he’s honest; has Aziraphale been told to eliminate Crawley, once and for all? “That is, if you can tell me-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They- Heaven- Apparently I’m not to- to </span>
  <em>
    <span>fornicate </span>
  </em>
  <span>with the humans. The cheek! As if </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>would go around making Nephilim!” Ah. That’s the reason behind the sudden synchronised orders, Crawley deduces.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, no, maybe not, but-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And this corporation is </span>
  <em>
    <span>human</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it’s been human for a very long time and human corporations have certain- ah- </span>
  <em>
    <span>functions</span>
  </em>
  <span> that aren’t always best operated alone!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Crawley frowns. Opens his mouth. Closes it again. Apparently, Aziraphale’s objection to his orders is not the implication that he might want to have sex with humans. It’s that they mean to </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop him doing it</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And from there, one conclusion leads unthinkingly to another.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could help.” Aziraphale stops blustering long enough to look at him, and Crawley finds himself unreasonably flustered. “I mean… if you wanted… relief.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You? You- how would that work?” But the indignation is gone, and he looks… intrigued. Crawley might even, in his professional capacity, think him </span>
  <em>
    <span>tempted</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He rushes to capitalise on that interest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Neither of us are supposed to be fucking the humans - I did, of course, just to show 'em - but we're not human. And I don't know about your lot, but Hell have never specifically told me not to have my wicked way with </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>." He dares a glance into Aziraphale's eyes and finds himself transfixed by the angel's openly lustful expression. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dear Satan, he's actually going to go for it. </span>
  </em>
  <span>"Or vice versa, if you prefer."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> wicked ways. My ways are delightful."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I wouldn't know, angel."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale licks his lips, pink tongue darting out to stop Crawley’s heart before his words can. "But… you </span>
  <em>
    <span>could.</span>
  </em>
  <span>"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ten minutes later, they’re in a copse of trees - they’d been looking for a building, but the trees had presented themselves first - and Aziraphale still seems willing, eager even, to work out his carnal frustrations with Crawley.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never thought you were the type,” Crawley tells him, stalling for time, trying to give Aziraphale every possible chance to back out. Because Crawley </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants </span>
  </em>
  <span>Aziraphale, of course he does, he always has - but he’s pretty sure he also </span>
  <em>
    <span>loves </span>
  </em>
  <span>Aziraphale, and that complicates matters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To have sex? I like to indulge in human pleasures. And I’m sure you’ve done plenty of indulging of your own.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh- yeah, loads- but </span>
  <em>
    <span>me-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve always- well, I’ve wondered. Haven’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I- ngk-” This last is barely a word to begin with, but the sudden application of Aziraphale’s lips to his own doesn’t help its coherence. “Angel-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry. I just- I wanted to- would you rather I-?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, kissing’s- it’s fine. Didn’t expect it.” To receive his first kiss from Aziraphale; he had never imagined he’d be so lucky. He certainly hadn’t expected it to be accompanied by the soft, insistent tug of angelic hands at the fabric of his clothing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Crawley?” The hands are gone, he realises abruptly, as are the lips against his. “Is- are- did I do something wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think you </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he tells him softly, and Aziraphale smiles warmly in return. “It’s just- I wasn’t expecting this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’d rather not-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only it was your idea-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want this, angel. Just- just catching up, OK?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm. OK. Need a minute?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I kiss you during that minute?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ngk- I- yeah-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale makes a delighted little noise and moves in again, but Crawley’s surprised to feel his mouth, not against Crawley’s own lips, but caressing the tender skin of his neck. His knees almost buckle; Aziraphale catches him and hauls him up, heavenly hands supporting him as he wraps his legs around the angel's waist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Angel-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Still getting used to those limbs," Aziraphale soothes, "quite understandable. You can still have your minute-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't need a minute," Crawley splutters, suddenly more certain than he's ever been of anything, "need you. I just need you-"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale steps forward slightly, for all the world as if he’s not supporting the weight of a demon, and presses Crawley’s back against a tree. It soon transpires that his intention is to free up one of his hands, which runs down Crawley’s thigh before coming up to his cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to rush you,” Aziraphale tells him, “but I find myself rushing.” Crawley can feel that; he can feel the hardness of the angel between his own legs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then rush,” Crawley tells him, breathless, “tell me what you want, and it’s yours. I’m yours.” He doesn’t mean to say that, but Aziraphale doesn’t laugh at him, so he supposes it’s all right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What you have,” Aziraphale tells him, “if that suits you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes- I- angel, I don’t care, but I need you inside me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That works out well,” the angel hums, his hand drifting down to run gentle fingers over Crawley’s cock, “because that’s exactly where I want to be.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It seems altogether too much like hard work to disentangle himself and remove his clothing the human way; Crawley snaps his fingers and they’re naked, their clothes deposited safely on the ground nearby. He half-expects Aziraphale to complain, but he only presses closer, and Crawley is very aware of his arousal bobbing near the cleft of Crawley’s arse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should I- miracle-?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. No, I want to open you up for myself, my dear. May I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, I wish you would.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They have to move, in the end; Crawley can’t stop himself from writhing against Aziraphale, and Aziraphale can’t concentrate on what he’s doing while Crawley is doing that. So Aziraphale lays his demon gently on the ground, nudges his legs apart, and kneels between them with a pot of salve Crawley’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure </span>
  </em>
  <span>he didn’t have before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Angel,” Crawley whimpers as he feels the press of a slick finger exactly where he wants it, “we’re just… ‘s about the orders, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said you were mine,” Aziraphale reminds him, “it’s about more than orders.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wha- I-” It’s hard to be coherent when that finger is pressing inside, moving slowly, searching. Aziraphale seems to understand, anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m yours, too. I give you my body, I trust you to take care of it.” And it isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it isn’t exactly what Crawley feels, but it’s more than nothing, and Crawley knows he doesn’t deserve anything more than nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Yes, I’ll keep it safe- please-” He wants to keep Aziraphale safe inside himself, as he is keeping two fingers now. The angel crooks them just right, and he sees the stars he scattered across the heavens. He feels as though his brain cells have spilled out to join them. “Angel, I need </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span>-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm. It’s not all about you, you know. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>want to </span>
  <em>
    <span>taste</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” And before he can make sense of that, Aziraphale makes sense of it for him, lowering his head and </span>
  <em>
    <span>licking </span>
  </em>
  <span>as Crawley squirms beneath him. He can’t move away without driving Aziraphale’s fingers deeper, and if he doesn’t move away, it’s all going to be over very quickly. Trapped between two pleasures, he can only let out an inhuman keening wail that makes Aziraphale laugh, hot breath against his thighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I must have you. I simply must have you, my dear.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Crawley can barely breathe, but he manages to gasp a ‘yes’ when it becomes clear that Aziraphale won’t go on without it. Then, all of a sudden, he’s in Aziraphale’s arms again, legs wrapped around his waist, pressed up against the same tree they’d nearly defiled earlier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re so beautiful like this,” Aziraphale whispers against the skin at the juncture of neck and shoulder, “you look so </span>
  <em>
    <span>wild.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You telling me Heaven doesn’t do wi-!” The teasing remark is cut off by the distinctly </span>
  <em>
    <span>un</span>
  </em>
  <span>teasing sensation of Aziraphale breaching him, giving him a cautious inch that only makes Crawley want to take a mile. “Yesssssssss, more-” But the angel won’t be hurried, and his soft hands are stronger than Crawley has ever realised, keeping his hips still so he can slowly, achingly slowly, give Crawley what he is begging for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shhhhhhh. Let me be careful, my dear, let me take my time with you. I don’t want to hurt you-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m a demon,” Crawley reminds him, “I can take it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure you can, but I have no desire to give it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How are you so- </span>
  <em>
    <span>sssssss- </span>
  </em>
  <span>so coherent?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Training-” Aziraphale thrusts gently, tentatively, and Crawley hisses again, clinging to the angel’s shoulders and urging him to repeat the movement. “Meant to- give clear orders- under stress-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stressed, are you? With your- with your cock up my arse?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fucking my adversary,” Aziraphale moans, helplessly, “wanting you, </span>
  <em>
    <span>needing </span>
  </em>
  <span>you- yes. Stressed is one word.” That stings, far more than anything else Aziraphale could do to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, if it’s so </span>
  <em>
    <span>stressful</span>
  </em>
  <span>, stop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want me to-?” Aziraphale’s hips stutter in the rhythm they’ve been building, and Crawley could kick himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, no, don’t you dare stop, don’t-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale lifts his head from where he’s been muttering into Crawley’s neck, and Crawley can finally see how utterly </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrecked </span>
  </em>
  <span>the angel looks as he continues to fuck into him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Crawley-”</span>
  </em>
  <span> But he’s holding back, and Crawley can see that. The angel shifts slightly to free up a hand, and the movement causes him to brush something inside Crawley that sets his world alight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There- there- fuck, angel, stop holding back, you’ll strain something.” The look of furious concentration on his face doesn’t look like it’s very pleasant to maintain, and Crawley wants this to be pleasurable for both of them. Aziraphale’s hand curls around the demon’s arousal, and Crawley knows he’s close. “I promise I won’t break. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Try me.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>And Aziraphale’s hips snap forward, his head falling back with a broken moan, and Crawley wonders, for a moment, if he’s made a promise he can’t keep. The look on the angel’s face alone could break him, but the onslaught of </span>
  <em>
    <span>sensation </span>
  </em>
  <span>he’s being subjected to-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, sssssshit, angel. You’re going to be the death of me-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope not,” Aziraphale grunts, each word a movement, each movement a symphony.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m-” He doesn’t get any further, spilling over Aziraphale’s hand with a cry of pleasure muffled in the tender skin of the angel’s neck. He’s bitten him, he realises in that instant, has his teeth in him </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span> - but Aziraphale doesn’t falter, works him through it until Crawley has to guide his hand away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All of a sudden, Crawley is on his back in the dirt, and there must be some sort of miracle involved because his tongue is still soothing Aziraphale’s neck, Aziraphale is still inside him, on top of him- and then, with a roar unfit for mortal ears, it’s over and he slumps, catching himself on his hands before he can crush Crawley.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They lie there, gathering themselves, for just long enough that Crawley manages a coherent thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t want him to go.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It’s stupid, he knows it is, but he wants to stay here, in this moment, with Aziraphale still softening inside him and a sticky mess of Crawley's own making dripping from Aziraphale’s stomach onto his own. He is trapped beneath an angel, completely at his mercy, and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>loves </span>
  </em>
  <span>it. He loves </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. That’s not good, not good at all, but he doesn’t care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Aziraphale pulls out, and Crawley whimpers as all those sensitive nerves react to the overstimulation of the movement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shhh. Shhh, it’s OK.” It’s not OK, of course, it can’t be OK - and not just because Crawley feels strangely empty without the angel. It already feels like he’s gone, like he’s walked away and Crawley will never see him again. “I’ll be right back.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s too slow to reach for him, to try to keep him close, hands closing on empty air, but Aziraphale is gone for only moments, returning with a bowl of miraculously warm water and a soft cloth. He sets about cleaning them both up, and Crawley watches in confusion. He ought to help, he thinks, but he’s lost. The angel has got what he wanted; they’ve fulfilled their bargain, they’ve followed their orders. Admittedly, he doesn’t think this is quite what their superiors had in mind, but the fact remains that they’ve done what they agreed to do. Aziraphale has no reason to be here, cleaning him up and treating him gently.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s suddenly all too aware of the way the bark of the tree has rubbed red ridges into his back, the way his muscles are protesting their hard use, the way Aziraphale’s fingers have left marks that will become bruises on Crowley’s thighs. He could miracle all of these things away, but he won’t. He wants to remember.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s aware, too, of the warmth in Aziraphale’s gaze, where he had expected to find only heat; the angel is looking at him the way Crawley imagines he must be looking at the angel, as if he’s the whole universe and everything beautiful in it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Angel,” he whispers, and Aziraphale shakes his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Best not, my dear. Some things are safer left unsaid.” But he knows; Crawley’s sure he must know. That’s enough, for now. It will have to be enough.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aziraphale?” He asks, as he’s straightening his robes and preparing to leave the clearing. The angel looks up, but his expression is guarded. He’s braced, Crawley realises, for the thing Crawley shouldn’t say. He’s braced to let him down gently. Crawley has no intention of making him; he can follow instructions, after all, doesn’t all this prove that? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aziraphale,” he repeats, “if you ever need… you know, corporation maintenance and functions and stuff…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know who to turn to,” Aziraphale tells him warmly, “and I trust you’ll do the same, if the need arises?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. If that’s all right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perfectly all right,” Aziraphale tells him, as if they’re discussing the loan of a cup of salt, or a toe being stepped on. “I’ll see you around, foul fiend. Do take care.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then Aziraphale is gone, and Crawley is left alone with the dawning realisation that he’s fucked in more ways than one.</span>
</p>
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